


if only for tonight

by orphan_account



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, god this is just shameless fluff b y e
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 20:29:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2242518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I wasn't smoking," she says frantically, and Jake is overwhelmed at how adorable she is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if only for tonight

Jake Peralta likes to think that he knows a lot about Amy Santiago.

They’ve been partners for close to six years, now, and he’s been sitting across from her for a little longer than that.

He knows that she yawns widely and unabashedly when they have to come in early and manages to down entire thermoses of coffee (with a generous amount of milk and one packet of white sugar) in one gulp.

He knows the way she runs her fingers through her hair when they have to work late and how, on late nights, her coffee is dark and bitter and Jake often gets pens thrown at him whenever he comments on how ‘dark and bitter’ can also be applied to her.

He never misses the small smile that flits across her face every time he makes a stupid joke, though it’s always immediately followed by a groan and a roll of the eyes, and maybe that little smile is the reason he even makes those stupid jokes to begin with.

He recognizes the way her eyes flick down to the floor and a light blush makes its way across the nape of her neck whenever anyone compliments her, and he thinks that it’s a little sad that someone as amazing as Amy Santiago should still feel surprised at compliments.

He sees the joy in her smile whenever her boyfriend at the time comes by.

He sees the sadness in her eyes whenever it’s over.

Jake’s seen Amy cry. He’s seen her laugh. He’s seen her at her worst and at her best. He knows more things about her than even Amy herself.

He’s pretty sure that he’s the only one who knows how incredible Amy really is, and that’s a real shame.

(Jake tries almost every day to make her understand how wonderful she is, but his deep emotions are usually masked by laughter and immature comedy and Amy just can’t see through that haze to his real meaning.)

So, to discover a whole different side of her at three in the morning on the precinct balcony, is something of a surprise.

After a long case and a long week, Jake heads out to the balcony for fresh air and solace.

When the door opens, Amy turns quickly and tosses something off the side of the balcony with finely tuned reflexes that only a police officer of her caliber would possess.

“I wasn’t smoking!” she says immediately.

“I didn’t think you were,” Jake replies, closing the door behind him and trying not to laugh at the deer-in-the-headlights expression on her face.

“Okay, fine, I was,” Amy amends hurriedly. “Happy?”

“Oh, Santiago,” Jake says with a long yawn, and slumps down into one of the chairs, looking out at the city lights. “I would never have believed it from you.”

Amy squints at him but drops the issue, instead moving to comment on their present situation. “Long week, huh?”

“Yeah. I’ll be glad when it’s all over. I think I’m starting to break out.”

Amy quirks an eyebrow. “You’re a police officer, Jake. Blemishes are the least of your worries.”

“But how will I charm women with my skin looking like I borrowed it from a twelve-year-old boy?”

“Shut up.”

“Okay.”

Jake really does shut up, instead of barreling ahead like he usually does and prompting a bout of irritation from Amy. She glances at him briefly, as though she’s surprised that he would actually fall silent at her command, but eventually turns to face the city, leaning on the railing.

After a while of quiet in which both take in the sounds and sights of Brooklyn at night, Jake finds himself watching Amy more than anything else.

There’s something about low light that automatically makes everyone look a lot older and sadder. Amy is no exception. Perhaps it’s the isolation of the setting, or the fact that they’re both exhausted out of their brains, or that the chilly winter wind is biting at their faces, but Jake thinks that Amy looks almost vulnerable in this state.

He stands and makes his way over to her, leaning on the railing next to her. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Amy echoes absentmindedly, staring at the few cars running past the precinct.

“Look,” Jake says, and keeps his eyes forward so that he can’t actually see her. “I really admire you. Like, a lot. But you don’t always have to be the strong one. In fact … I kind of like the Amy that smokes cigarettes at three in the morning on the precinct balcony and sighs a lot and looks like she hasn’t slept in four days.”

“I haven’t.”

“Wow. I’m an excellent detective.”

Amy laughs, and Jake decides right then and there that Amy’s laugh must be the best sound ever.

He catches her gaze, and her eyes are deep and dark and full of things never written down on paper or spoken by human tongues.

All the lights of the city blur out into the background because Amy Santiago is so much brighter and so much more important than all of those tiny, insignificant sparks tossed out across the night.

Almost unknowingly, Jake’s hand finds its way up to Amy’s jaw, and perhaps it’s the stress of the past few days and the fact that both of them are severely fatigued, but she doesn’t resist – rather, she seems to gravitate towards him.

Jake’s lips are, all of a sudden, nearly touching Amy’s as the two of them draw together, irresistibly attracted to each other, and Jake realizes that north and south poles, no matter how different they might be, can’t stand to be apart.

“Can I – ?”

A simple question; neither of them are fully aware of the repercussions that this will bring with it come morning.

Amy sort-of laughs: a low, rich thing that vibrates at the junction of her throat. Jake feels her breath on his mouth and so wants to close the gap, but he can’t. Not just yet.

“I’m going to taste like an ashtray.”

“Right,” Jake mumbles, and brushes a lock of hair back as his other hand moves up to hold her face as well. “’Cause you’re addicted to cigarettes.”

“Am not.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Jake nips it in the bud before they ruin their own moment and tips his head forward just the tiniest bit to brush his lips against hers. He feels Amy hold her breath when he pulls away, hands still on either side of her face, right thumb absently stroking her cheekbone.

“Back to work?” Amy suggests after a long silence, and steps away from him.

“Nerd.”

“Shut up.”

Amy heads back in as though absolutely nothing’s happened between them, and Jake watches the door close behind her.

He’ll deal with the consequences some other time.


End file.
